Drifting Ashes
by Rheniel
Summary: Remus realizes what noone else has bothered to see: how much Harry's going through. He throws himself into helping Harry, but ends up making things far, far worse. Rating for violence, angst, werewolves.
1. Thoughts of a Saviour

It hasn't always been this way.

Not that anyone would understand, even if they knew. Sure, there'd never really been much in the way of physical damage. Not since he began school at the belated age of seven. Never, since he was old enough that they thought someone might find out. They wouldn't, not when there was a chance that someone would see through the perfect family image, and know what lay beneath.

That didn't mean he was never injured. Little things, "inadvertent" things – such as being pushed in a way that made him fall, or knocked into when his hand was close to a stove-burner. Those sorts of things, they could happen to anyone. So, of course, no one thought a thing of it. Accidents happen, these things are explained. He was, of course, "very clumsy".

No one cared, not a bit, that there were signs of mistreatment; that things weren't as perfect as they seemed. No one ever mentioned that he never wore a piece of suitable clothing, nor was anything said when he smelled from not showering in weeks, or when he never befriended any other children. In so many ways, for so long, it had simply been overlooked.

And anything that couldn't be overlooked was, of course, his fault.

Sometimes, he wished the abuse were physical, if it could be pain in his body without the pain in his heart, his soul. If he could choose between being beaten, but still cared for, or being ignored as he was, he'd take the pain any day. Wounds heal in days, and scars will fade; emotions, on the other hand, die only with their bearer.

It was like a cage. Had he been beaten, he'd have been forced into it. It would be real, concrete, and physical. All he'd have to do is escape, physically escape, and it would be gone. However hard it might be to leave, he would at least have the knowledge that he would find himself safe, forever free, if he managed it. Perhaps because then, there would be something to fight, bars to pound his fists against.

His cage was in his mind.

How do you escape yourself?

How do you walk past walls that exist only in your mind? Somehow, somewhere, he knew there was a way. Years ago, he might have found that way. Even now, he supposed there was a chance, if only there were someone to help him search. But no-one knew, and no-one could know. Because he couldn't tell them. He wasn't silent because of pride, nor for fear of what it would do to his image. He was silent for fear of his own relations.

He knew, if he told, they'd kill him.

It would be the simplest solution. After all, their aversion to physical punishment wasn't exactly rooted in care for him. If he showed them as they were, if their perfect, righteous friends from the perfect, pious church finally saw the horrid truth, there'd be no reason left for them to hide. If he were on hand at the time, it would be quick. If he weren't, they would hunt him for as long as it took, going after him with a single-mindedness that even the Dark Lord might envy. And they would, certainly, succeed where he had not.

It would be worth destroying their perfect image, to find his own end at their hands. He might even have told someone, this year, except for his sudden discovery of a reason not to. So he would keep his secret, a bit longer. He would wait to save himself, wait until after he saved the world.

And then he would have his revenge.

And they would have theirs.

And then? Peace.


	2. The Letter

_04 August_

_Hullo Again,_

_Nothing much happened this week, though I've been keeping myself pretty busy. Dudley's been completely off his diet since Tuesday, as a reward for, of all things, good grades. Good meaning only that, for once, he passed all his classes. _

_That's about all that's happened, I guess. The muggles haven't laid a hand on me, so no need to worry. It's actually been a bit of a relief not to have a guard this summer, much as you all worried. Actually, the Dursley's and I have reached a bit of an agreement. I'm getting certain freedoms on the condition that no-one wizard-looking shows up here. So, I'd actually prefer if no-one dropped by, or came to get me this year. Oh, and, on that note, if someone could pick up my school supplies, I would really appreciate it. I'll see you all on the train. _

_-Harry  
_

Ever since Remus had written Harry and asked about it, the letters had been much more informative. Informative, that is, when compared with the two-sentence notes sent to the Order the first two weeks of summer. Harry's letters never discussed anything particularly personal, but Remus could grant his young friend some room on that. After all, the notes were perused by nearly the entire order, and Harry knew that. He would hardly pour his heart out into such a letter.

It was different with the letters Harry wrote to his friends, Remus was sure, even if he'd never actually seen one of those letters. The werewolf very much wanted to be a part of his best friends' sons' life, but he knew that doing so would require writing a letter of his own. Not just a hey-can-you-write-more letter, like the one he'd managed to send, but a real heart-to-heart sort of letter. It wasn't that Remus had intended to put the letter-writing off all summer, it just… happened that way.

The first few weeks, he was dealing with Sirius' death. Remus didn't think he could do anything to help Harry until he'd sorted through things for himself. He'd finally started feeling put together by the beginning of July, only then Dumbledore'd had a mission for him. By the time he returned, it was past Harry's birthday. Remus realized he'd missed his chance. Harry had to have worked through things on his own by now, and if Remus wrote to him, it would only re-open old wounds.

So he'd given up the letter idea, and decided to just try to talk with Harry when he took him to go shopping for his school supplies. Dumbledore had talked Remus into resuming the Defense professorship, and Remus, as part of the bargain, was to take Harry to Diagon Alley the day before term began. Today marked one week until term started, though the letter Remus had just finished was from a little more than two weeks ago.

Remus had asked Dumbledore for all the letters he'd missed while on the Order mission. He wanted to know about the rest of Harry's summer, so he would have a conversation starter that didn't involve Sirius. Much as Remus wanted to remember, he also wanted to forget, and he suspected Harry would feel the same.

Right now, though, he didn't know why he'd bothered. There was so little information in the letters, it wouldn't do him a bit of good. Yet there was something, something in those letters, that was bothering him. Almost as though his subconscious saw a pattern his brain refused to recognize. Something that worried him, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

The next letter was almost the same as the last. It contained, again, a notice that he was still unharmed, and a few meaningless updates on the Dursleys' lives. He mentioned even less regarding himself than he had in other letters, though the length remained the same. It was almost as though he was still writing the two-line letters, and simply filling the space in between with whatever would take up the space.

Curious, Remus turned his attention to the last, most recent letter. Perhaps it would be more explanatory.

_Hello Everyone,_

_All's still well. This week was particularly boring. I actually wish I were working on homework, if you'll believe it. The muggles are helping to keep me occupied, and I'm thankful. They still haven't touched me, so no worries. I guess that threat really worked. Today-_

Remus froze. Slowly, he brushed his hand across the paper the note was scrawled on. He could smell it, smell Harry, despite the smells from the hands of half the order. Except that he didn't just smell Harry; buried in his scent were despair, lonliness, and deepest pain. Too-warm and sour, the smell was as strong as though it had been painted on. Remus was at a loss. Surely, if the boy felt like this, he would have written. If something were truly wrong, if Harry was in that much pain, he would have told his friends, right? And his friends wouldn't have kept something like that to themselves. No, surely they would have told an adult, told the order.

Only suddenly, Remus wasn't so certain. He had to know what else had been written. A quick floo-call to Molly and an inventive story later, he had copies of all the letters Harry had written to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. He'd told Molly he needed to see the letters for security related reasons, and she had quickly gotten them from the kids. Surprisingly, they'd all been comfortable giving the letters up, mentioning that there really wasn't anything personal in them. And there hadn't been.

Harry had, apparently, not written one truly personal thought to anyone all summer. Not about Sirius, not about Voldemort, not even any real mention of the Dursleys, beyond the simple stories that were the same as those in the order-letters. In fact, the letters Harry wrote to his friends were nearly as repetitive and mechanical as the letters to the Order had been. So much so, that Remus couldn't believe no-one had noticed. Except that he knew that Ron and Hermione had begun dating, and Ginny had been ecstatic to hear from Harry at all.

Ginny had, in fact, been ecstatic enough to keep all the letters in a little magically-sealed box she kept, that was meant to keep things safe from her brothers. In this case, however, the seal served another purpose; it had kept the smell of the letters from fading. And, having only passed through Ginny's hands, it was even more obvious. Even worse, the more recent letters still smelt more of pain and despair, despite the magical preservation. Which could only mean that Harry was feeling progressively worse.

And then Remus found the letter, in the middle, that contained enough emotion to have a slight magical signature. It wasn't enough for the Ministry to track, or to count as underage magic, but it was enough for something else. The letter he held was word-for-word the same as the one given to the order the first week of August. Though it was nearly unknown, there was a spell to discover the intent behind a written word, if the writer had been emotional enough to allow an unintentional outpouring of their magic. It required a skilled Legillimens, as it was closely related to the art, but Remus, as it happened, was exactly that.

His breath caught, for just a moment. This was an invasion of privacy, Harry might never forgive him for this. But he had to. Had to know.

The whispered incantation passed his lips like light and not word, and the paper lit in new meaning.

_Dear Ginny,_

_You know what? I'm just going to copy this from the letter I'm sending the order, because I doubt you'll ever see it, and I'd really hate to have to write the damned thing twice. The order is, after all, exceptional at keeping secrets that don't need keeping. Nothing much happened this week, though I've been keeping myself pretty busy. Not like They would let a summer go by without making use of their slave. There're more chores to do than ever, and they get harder every day. And it took forever to sneak together those ingredients, and manage to brew that healing potion. Dudley's been completely off his diet since Tuesday, as a reward for, of all things, good grades. Which only makes it worse, as I have to cook all the more for him, and watch while he eats enough to ensure I don't get any. There haven't been leftovers since. But I deserve it. I deserve it all. God, Sirius, I miss you so much. I can't believe… I wish I… oh… stop it, Freak, or you'll never get through this letter. Better throw in something to make them think I'm feeling upbeat. What could possibly be funny about any of this? Oh, I know… Good meaning only that, for once, he passed all his classes. _

_That's about all that's happened, I guess. The muggles haven't laid a hand on me, so no need to worry. Of course they haven't laid a hand on me. They'd never touch a disgusting freak like me. Nor would anyone else, if they really knew. Although Dudley has managed to knock me down, through, and into a remarkable number of things for one summer. Good thing the order doesn't still have a watch set over me, they would surely have noticed that time with the window. It's actually been a bit of a relief not to have a guard this summer, much as you all worried. Oh, better make sure they don't… Actually, the Dursley's and I have reached a bit of an agreement. I'm getting certain freedoms on the condition that no-one wizard-looking shows up here. Those "freedoms" being that they don't kill me outright. Why, oh why did the Order have to threaten them? Vernon made sure I noticed, that first night back, that he still has the gun. So, I'd actually prefer if no-one dropped by, or came to get me this year. If only you'd all kept your mouths shut, maybe I could have been out of here a whole month earlier. Not that I deserve to, maybe at least this will teach me. Keep me from causing more pain, from dooming anyone else. I haven't managed to learn for myself, but perhaps this will be enough to remind me. But how am I even going to get my stuff for school without someone dropping by, and inadvertently getting me killed? Oh, how ironic, that the fate of the wizarding world really rests in the hands of a muggle with a gun. Oh, and, on that note, if someone could pick up my school supplies, I would really appreciate it. I'll see you all on the train. Thank God, another one done. Now I just need to find Hedwig. Huh, 4AM, she should be back soon. So tired… ugh, no, won't sleep. I just… I can't see that again. Not any of it. I'm not sure if the Visions or the Nightmares are worse. Hell, I'm not even sure which is which, anymore._

_-Harry Freak_

Remus paled. He cancelled the spell, and the letter resumed its original state. With trembling hands, he set down the letter, though he continued to stare at it. Slowly, he dropped his head into his hands, never losing sight of the page before him. He wanted to weep for the boy who was so different from what they all thought, who had, so painfully obviously, not recovered from Sirius' death. Even if Remus hadn't been able to smell the emotions from the letter, the pain of the words was enough to tear at his heart.

He had to get Harry out of there. Had to make him see. Someone had to save the boy-saviour from himself. And it couldn't be Dumbledore, or the Weasleys, who would pity but wouldn't understand; nor Snape, who wouldn't see a problem unless the boy were coated in blood. No, of all the people he could think of, only Remus himself knew, really knew, Harry's pain.


	3. Surprising Arrival

Dumbledore had expressly forbidden it.

Molly had yelled, Arthur had reasoned, Minerva had questioned, the Order, as a whole, had demanded he not do as he planned, and Snape had… Snaped. Nevertheless, he was swiftly covering the last few yards of sidewalk to the Dursley's front door. In the end, the Order could only recommend; he was the only one who had any real say in the boy's life. As he ought to have done years before, when Harry was to be placed with his relatives, Remus Johnathan Lupin stood against the will of the masses to do what was truly the best thing for James Potter's son.

Taking him away from this place.

Everything he could see told him he was in a happy suburban town, at a happy, medium-sized home. His eyes noted the well-manicured lawns, the tidily trimmed, neatly edged borders and gardens, and the over-all very-well-cared-for home. He saw only cheer and tidiness; the warm glow of lights from inside drifted through warm-toned sheer curtains to highlight the lawn in the growing dusk. But the rest of his senses told a story far different.

Sadness was most prevalent, oddly enough, overshadowing even the abundant sense of pain. Depression and frustration were also obvious, along with a very morose, but powerful, feeling of determination. All of these emotions were bound up in Harry, in fact, Remus could sense the boy from here, just by looking for the source of the sadness, pain, and determination. It went far beyond the normal teenage angst, as Molly had suggested, and the determination made it obvious that this was no plea for attention, as Severus had so enthusiastically championed.

And from his relations? A sort of half-manic mirth, twisted together with a sick sort of enthusiasm. And… something else… something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Injustice? A sense of moral… un-rightness?

Remus had to get him out of here. Fortunately, there wasn't much left to do but the getting. And he'd better get cracking; the order, once they'd seen that he couldn't be swayed, had decided to make the most of things and put together a rather subtle and intricate (for the mostly-Gryffindor group) plan. Severus would be making good with the Dark Lord by informing on Remus, and should be apparating to Voldemort's side in almost exactly forty minutes. Which gave Remus about forty-_two_ minutes to be out of here, and warded away where old Voldy couldn't reach. Sparing only the time for one last deep breath, he rang the bell.

Not surprisingly, the young Dursley boy answered the door. Seeing Remus, he almost immediately turned his nose up when he saw the state of his clothes. "Yeah? And whadda _you_ want?" Dudley asked.

"I'm here for Harry, actually." Remus said.

"Wha? Oh, you're one of _them_, huh?" Oddly, his gaze got slightly warmer, and was edged with curiousity. "_He's _not supposed to have any visitors of your sort this summer."

"I'm not visiting. I'm here to fetch him."

Dudley was giving him a look, now, that he hadn't expected. A real look of evaluation, as though weighing things in his mind. After a moment, he opened the door wider, and spoke. "You can't talk to Mum and Dad, they're on a trip until Monday. But come on in."

Remus stepped in, but watched Dudley carefully. He wasn't acting like the boy Harry'd told him about, and Remus was uncertain what the cause was. At any rate, the werewolf in him, along with the Legillimens, was affirming that the boy was being quite honest, and that he was, while somewhat confused, not prone to attacking or anything else.

"Harry's upstairs." Dudley said.

Remus simply continued to watch him, waiting for the boy to say whatever was on his mind. After a moment of silence, he gave up, and turned for the stairs.

"Mister – wait a second, would you?" Dudley said, awkwardly.

Remus turned back towards the boy, but only quirked a brow in response.

"Look, it's no secret that the Frea- that my cousin and I haven't really gotten along. But whatever's eating at him, it's not good. I'm glad you're taking him away." Dudley actually blushed. "That came out wrong. I'm glad for him, he needs … something, and stuff. And my parents… well, and me, really, we haven't treated him so good."

By the end of this speech, Dudley was staring at his toes. It was obvious that apologies, and admitting faults, were out of character for the boy. He was silent, but Remus knew that the boy hadn't actually managed to _say _whatever it was he was intending, in all that.

"Mr. Dursley?" Remus prompted, after a while. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand what it is you'd like me to know."

Dudley stared at the floor another minute, and Remus didn't think he was going to say any more. But then Dudley looked straight at him, and spoke firmly. "When he came home, he was sad. But he's always sad, when he comes home. But last year was the first year that it seemed like… like he might kill himself, or something. One of my friends did, this past year at school, so this summer I was watching him, but I didn't let him know or anything."

Dudley sighed. "At first, it really seemed like he would, and I must've watched him every second, must've hid every pair of scissors, every razor blade, and every knife in the house a dozen times. Mum thought he was stealing them, and Harry – I dunno what he thought about it, really. But then… he just stopped, stopped being like that. But – look, I'm not a shrink or anything, and I don't know what was going on in his head, but the change definitely wasn't better. It's like he's not going to kill himself, but he knows that something else will. Like he's got to do something first, but he'll die from it anyways. I think he might … do something stupid. Go looking for trouble."

Remus thought that rather remarkably insightful from a boy who, according to Harry, couldn't and one and one and get two more than half the time. Especially seeing as it was unlikely that the boy had even the faintest clue who Voldemort was.

He wasn't really sure _what_ to say to Dudley, though. A long, involved conversation was in order, honestly, but he didn't have the time. He glanced up the stairs, then back to the boy in front of him.

Dudley, however, seemed to realize his quandry. "Look, you're obviously in a hurry; just … don't let him hide from you – he's got bruises from… well, from dad. Dad… doesn't exactly hit him, but…" Remus opened his mouth to respond; he had to know more, needed to know what was going on in this house, but then checked his watch. Thirty minutes and they _had_ to be warded, or they'd all be dead, and that would be the best case scenario. Again, however, Dudley seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Look, just go. I'll… you can write me, I guess, if you want. You know… with the owls. So long as they come at night, and mum and dad don't see."

Speaking of their plan, however, Remus realized a critical flaw. When the Death Eaters couldn't find Harry out and about, they'd come back to look in his relatives' house, even if only to see if Snape was lying. And with Petunia and Harry both gone, the blood protection on the place would be gone, as well. "Look, Dudley… do you have someplace else you can go for the night? Someplace you can go in a hurry? It's really important."

"Yeah, I can go to a friends'. I was supposed to, anyways, really. Mum didn't want me here alone with the… with Harry." Dudley paused. "The door to his room is locked. I can pick the lock for you, if you want…"

"That's not necessary." Remus replied, waving the boy off, but half-smiling to let the boy know the gesture (a former marauder could hardly fault a boy for knowing how to pick a lock) was appreciated. "You really need to get going, though… we all need to be out of here in another twenty minutes."

Dudley nodded, and preceded him up the stairs. When they reached the landing, he wordlessly pointed at the door to Harry's room, and turned in the opposite direction, presumably to pack. The door to Harry's room looked much as it had at the end of the previous summer; locked with several locks, and a cat-flap at the bottom. Remus wondered what Harry's relatives had been thinking, leaving him locked up like that. Beyond even the simple cruelty of locking the teen in, as they usually did, how did they expect him to relieve himself without anyone there to let him out?

Oddly, though, Remus didn't detect any overwhelming scent of waste… had they installed a toilet in the boys' room? It was beyond imagining, what lengths they might go to, simply to keep Harry out of their lives.

Unwilling to stall a moment longer, Remus opened the door to the room. And what he saw shocked him.


End file.
